


From Where I'm Standing

by misha_anon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, POV Alternating, Purgatory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-14
Updated: 2013-06-14
Packaged: 2017-12-14 22:53:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/842292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misha_anon/pseuds/misha_anon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prayer and kissing in Purgatory from Dean's perspective, then from Castiel's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From Where I'm Standing

**Author's Note:**

> This was an exercise in writing Dean because I want to be better at it. I decided to do the same "scene" from Castiel's perspective so I could compare the two. Early season 8.

“I’ll leave you all to _talk_.” Benny gives his best cat-who-can’t-be-trusted-with-small-birds grin, the seemingly innocuous words sounding positively scandalous wrapped up in his purred drawl. Dean has wanted a minute alone with Castiel since they found him by the river; so when Benny makes to disappear, he warns but doesn’t argue.

“Watch yourself out there, brother.”

Castiel watches the vampire depart through the trees; his brow furrowed in a pinch of distrust Dean is all too familiar with. Dean watches Castiel, burning through the last of his patience reserves as he listens to the snapping of twigs and scrapes of cloth against bark getting fainter and fainter. Funny how your senses get so sharp when everything wants to kill you.

Dean keeps watching until Castiel’s eyes move back to him, watches his gaze soften and his head tilt the slightest bit in the look he has always reserved for Dean alone. But, when Dean raises a hand toward Castiel’s face and takes a step closer, the angel flinches and drops his eyes to the forest floor. The taste of bile rises in Dean’s mouth and he stops, raises his other hand reflexively in the universal ‘not gonna hit you’.

“Cas..”

At the whisper of his name, Castiel swallows so hard Dean hears it, but still doesn’t move. He stands there in his filthy psych ward issue clothes and ever-present trenchcoat with slumped shoulders looking for all the world like a dog who’s been kicked one too many times. Fear tightens like an icy fist around Dean’s heart and he lets his hands drop slowly as he takes another tiny step forward. He can’t bear seeing Cas like this. Guilt twists up Dean’s insides at having cornered Castiel when he was not all there but still eager to make amends, for having pushed Castiel into helping him take down Dick Roman, for having gotten Castiel into this mess in the first place. Dean wants to reach out and grab Castiel by his lapels to make sure he doesn’t run away and get lost in the endless gray forest again, but instead he straightens his own jacket.

“Cas, look at me.”

Castiel’s eyes snap up obediently, settling on Dean’s. Dean feels his mouth go dry when he sees the tears threatening to spill over Castiel’s lashes. He reaches up again, his palm sliding against the roughness of Castiel’s scruff as he moves so close they’re almost touching. Cas tenses, but still doesn’t move. Dean moves his head to rest temple-to-temple with his broken angel and closes his eyes, feeling safe for the first time in months.

“Cas.. Cas, if you can hear me,” he whispers, his throat painfully constricted as his hand tightens against Castiel’s jaw. His palm drags until his fingers curl around the back of Castiel’s skull. So many times he's said these exact words, but he's compelled to say them again here and now and without a doubt that Cas will hear them. “If you can hear me, I could sure use your help out here. I found someone, man. He says.. he says he can get me out of here. Get us out of here. Are you listening, Cas?”

“Dean.” Dean feels the wetness of Castiel’s tears on his skin. He seems delicate, too breakable when he leans into Dean, his hand coming up to cup Dean’s cheek.

Dean clings to Castiel, his lips ghosting words against the beard that’s grown in, the bare skin above, his fingers curl in Castiel’s hair. “I think he’s the real deal, man. He can help us. Look, I know it’s hard here and I know you’re just tryin’ to survive, too. But if you can hear me, Cas.. if you’re out there somewhere, just fucking _answer me_. Just once. Even if you wanna tell me to fuck off, just.. God.. just tell me you _hear_ me.”

“I hear you.” It’s a raw murmur against Dean’s skin, more feeling than sound. Castiel’s body convulses with a silent sob as he presses his face harder, grinding his beard against Dean’s cheek. Dean’s stomach turns with panic at the desperation in his voice when he continues, “I heard all your prayers, Dean. _All_ of them. And I knew.. I wanted.. You _have_ to understand. I _need_ you to understand..”

The panic floods through Dean’s body, setting his nerves on edge and no matter how important what Castiel has to say may be, he knows he won’t survive hearing it. _Understand this_ , Dean thinks as he turns his head, his lips catching Castiel’s and cutting him off mid-sentence. He presses closer, his kiss as desperate as Cas’ voice had been.

To his surprise, Castiel doesn’t pull away. He’s got a shaky death grip on the dirty trench coat as his tongue slides against Castiel’s. There’s no playfulness or teasing here, just a desire to be heard and understood and needed. Dean surges forward, his chest molded to Castiel’s as he feels a hand settle to his hip, long fingers squeezing too hard for comfort. Castiel's body goes slack for a moment, humming with unexpected energy that pushes aside the panic still curdling in Dean's blood before sobs shake him again, haunted whimpers tearing from his throat into Dean’s mouth. Dean takes his pain and swallows it and kisses him harder; fingers twisting in his hair as their lips crush together bruising tight.

He traces Castiel’s teeth and the roof of his mouth with the tip of his tongue, relearning the curves and planes and the old mixed with new taste, offering forgiveness as Castiel strokes a thumb soothingly over the sensitive skin of his stomach. He kisses until his lungs burn with the need to breathe, then for a moment longer. When he finally pulls away, panting, he rests his forehead to Castiel’s, shares warm breath with him to fight off the chill in the air.

“I’m sorry, Dean.”

Dean opens his eyes, holding on to Castiel just a little tighter as he looks into blue eyes that hold more pain than any one being, supernatural or not, should ever have to feel. He can’t believe he’s saying it even as the words leave his mouth, “It’s as much my fault. You wouldn’t even _be_ here if I hadn’t...”

Castiel’s eyes go wide, but before Dean can finish or he can protest, Benny’s smooth voice floats into the space between them, “Hope you boys are done makin’ up, there’s trouble on the way.”

**********

“I’ll leave you all to talk.” There’s something in the inflection of the word ‘talk’ that makes Benny grin and Dean’s body tighten in response, but Castiel is uncertain what it is. It doesn’t matter. Benny is a vampire and Dean is placing his faith mistakenly again in trusting him. That’s what Castiel gets for leaving him alone. He was bound to take up with _something_.

“Watch yourself out there, brother.”

Brother. Brother? No. Sam is his brother, at a stretch Castiel is ‘like a brother’. The reality of Dean calling a monster ‘brother’ is more than Castiel can stomach. His eyes narrow and he glares after the vampire as it makes its retreat into the trees. No, Dean is definitely mistaken. It’s foolish to trust a monster, even in Purgatory.

When he looks back, Dean is watching him, eyes as full of hope as they were when he hugged Castiel on the riverbank. Castiel feels his resolve soften, tilts his head to study the man before him. Dean is the most resilient person he’s ever met. For all his faults, he is brave and loyal. The Righteous Man. Guilt washes over Castiel at having left him alone in a forest full of monsters. But what else could he have done?

When Dean raises his hand, Castiel sucks in a hard breath and looks at the ground, bracing himself for the expected blow. He’s perplexed when it doesn’t come, but he’s afraid to look up even when he sees Dean’s other hand raise in an attempt to look non-threatening. When Dean whispers his name, it’s all Castiel can do not to bolt away. He hunches, wishing he could disappear, staring at the ground as sorrow fills his chest with a burning ache and tears flood into his eyes. He swallows hard around the lump in his throat. Dean’s fingers twitch like he’s going to reach out again, but he reaches up and straightens his short jacket instead.

“Cas, look at me.”

It’s the pleading undercurrent in Dean’s voice that makes him look up. He searches Dean’s face, those eyes that are too green to be that green. How could he have forgotten that? Castiel takes a shaky breath as he tries to fight back the tears. The bridge of his nose burns with the effort, but it’s worth it to see the little bit of relief creep into the skin around Dean’s eyes. When Dean reaches out again, Castiel doesn’t flinch.

It feels good; the slide of Dean’s palm against his cheek, and Castiel closes his eyes and savors the warmth of the touch. When he feels Dean’s chest touch his, Castiel tenses. It’s been a long time since anyone was so close who didn’t want to kill him. Too long. When he feels Dean’s temple press to his, Castiel’s heart beats faster. It’s close and comfortable and safe and if this is to be his fate, he wants to stay right here like this forever with his Righteous Man.

“Cas.. Cas, if you can hear me,” Dean whispers, his voice raw and choked in Castiel’s ears. Castiel feels Dean’s palm press harder and drag across his beard until fingers are wrapped around the back of Castiel’s head and there’s no escape from the pain that feels like a knife thrust between his ribs, then twisted. “If you can hear me, I could sure use your help out here. I found someone, man. He says.. he says he can get me out of here. Get us out of here. Are you listening, Cas?”

“Dean..” Dean, don’t do this. Don’t make me do this. Don’t pray because I’m too broken to be your guardian. I’m worthless to you, so please shut up. Castiel wants to say all that and more, but his throat is dry and tight and he can’t breathe and the world is going sideways so instead, the tears he has been fighting spill over and he leans hard into Dean. Castiel reaches up to touch Dean’s face and make sure he’s not an illusion as he feels himself shattering into a million tiny shards. 

Dean holds him tighter, so tight he’s tugging at his hair and that’s the only thing that keeps Castiel from falling over. There’s a beat of silence and Castiel feels hope rise up the back of his neck that Dean’s prayer is finished, even though he knows it isn’t. He’s heard this prayer, exactly this prayer, a hundred times if once. His heart sinks when Dean’s breath carries more words against his wet cheek.

“I think he’s the real deal, man. He can help us. Look, I know it’s hard here and I know you’re just tryin’ to survive, too. But if you can hear me, Cas.. if you’re out there somewhere, just fucking answer me. Just once. Even if you wanna tell me to fuck off, just.. God.. _just tell me you hear me_.”

“I hear you.” Castiel forces the words through parched lips, suddenly exhausted. He grinds his cheek into Dean’s, needing contact and grounding as a sob shakes his body. He finds the missing words, in a jumbled heap at the pit of his stomach, and they spill out broken and desperate, “I heard all your prayers, Dean. _All of them_. And I knew.. I wanted.. You have to understand. I _need_ you to understand..”

Before Castiel can put into his newfound words what Dean needs to understand, he’s stopped short by the press of Dean’s lips to his own. He’s surprised, but not displeased, his lips parting in reflex to allow Dean entry. It feels good, right, to pour all his emotion into this moment and the electric-edged caress of Dean’s tongue. Dean’s fingers shake as they curl into his trench coat, pulling him as close as he can possibly get, Dean’s chest knocking into his, hot and hard and tight. Castiel’s hand settles into the soft spot above Dean’s hipbone, under his jacket, under his shirts. He squeezes tighter than he means to, unwilling to let Dean get away from him. 

In this moment, he knows that Dean understands everything he wanted to say and couldn’t and relief flows through his veins like ice water. Castiel shivers, unable to hold back the tears or the sobs. Dean clings to him, holding hard and kissing harder, tongues sliding around the inhuman whimpers that slip from Castiel’s chest and echo in their mouths before Dean swallows them whole.

Castiel’s lips are sealed against Dean’s, eager to give him what he wants. Anything he wants. His thumb strokes over the soft skin of Dean’s belly as he lets Dean kiss him, tasting the dirt and pain and anger on Dean’s lips. The grip on Castiel’s hair is insistent, a point of contact that keeps him from floating away with the ecstasy of forgiveness in this long overdue kiss. It’s too soon when Dean pulls away, but the press of his forehead to Castiel’s is soothing, the mingling of labored breaths in the chill of the air even more so. He opens his eyes, too close to focus properly but still needing to look at Dean when he says the only thing that is left to say.

“I’m sorry, Dean.”

Dean’s fingers tighten painfully in Castiel’s hair as his eyes open and once more Castiel is staring into pools of shimmering green. Dean’s voice is quiet, but steady, brooking no argument – like that will stop Castiel from arguing. 

“It’s as much my fault. You wouldn’t even _be_ here if I hadn’t...”

It’s like a bomb dropped in the middle of Castiel’s stomach. How could Dean blame himself for any of this? He draws another shaky breath to protest, feeling his eyes go wide as he tries to focus. He doesn’t have a chance to speak before the vampire’s strange accent grates from the tree line.

“Hope you boys are done makin’ up, there’s trouble on the way.”


End file.
